


dawnbreak

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:17:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7625365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Contains casual spoilers for MTMTE #55!)</p><p>Drift's spare time is being eaten up by memories, and Megatron has a question for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dawnbreak

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Innermost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722467) by [prowlish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish). 



> completely self-indulgent fic I immediately buried myself in after reading #55 :') this is... my third attempt at it. I think I finally got it how I wanted it.
> 
> it's a sequel to ["Innermost"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6722467) but tbh it can stand on its own, too. my thanks to ky, linda, and mar for their help and support. <3

Drift rested fretfully. It was a surprise he rested at all, honestly -- it was hard to calm him from a battle, and the nerves of facing the DJD  _ and _ Overlord were high. Not to mention in combination with the reunion with part of their crew.

 

(And Megatron. It was still a little unbelievable, even though Ratchet had  _ told _ him, but  _ seeing _ him was always a different thing…)

 

But Ratchet knew just how to handle him anymore, it seemed, and once his repairs were completed, Drift managed to fall into a light recharge. And his dreams weren’t really dreams, but memories. Seeing Megatron --

 

\--and the first time he had. Not as a gladiator, not as a revolutionary; just the miner who read too much, and wrote poetry.

 

Poetry. Drift smiled, even in his sleep.

 

\--

 

Only a few hours later, just being in company with Rodimus and Magnus (Minimus? Magnus? That was also something else he was getting used to) was familiar enough to smooth out the less than restful nap. Rodimus was the last to leave, and Drift was content to stay near the monument of vanished Cybertronians. When he wasn’t preoccupied with the meaning of the flowers, or wound up from a fight -- or thinking again about a far-flung past with Megatron -- Drift found this planet beautiful. Peaceful, even. He sat at the base of the monument, optics shuttered against the afternoon light.

 

Footsteps approached and judging from their weight and the gait, he knew whose -- but he stayed as he was, enjoying the warmth and a gentle breeze. Simple sensation was the best remedy for a busy mind.

 

Or the best break from it, as it were.

 

The footsteps paused. “You know, when I heard Rodimus mention you and meditation in the same breath, I thought he was… well. Being Rodimus.”

 

Drift snorted in laughter. He didn’t have to open his optics to know Megatron when he heard him, so he didn’t. “And what was I to think of your declarations of pacifism?”

 

To his surprise, Megatron let out a soft laugh; Drift hadn’t been sure  _ how _ Megatron would react to that, especially given the night they’d just come out of, but somehow it felt more comfortable that he had laughed. 

 

He felt Megatron sit next to him, and this time he  _ did _ look. He’d expected a talk with Megatron at some point, but with that long night behind them… Drift tilted his helm. “I thought you’d still be with Terminus.”

 

Megatron glanced aside at him, giving a thoughtful hum in his pause. “Given the last several hours, I thought he might deserve a break from me.” 

 

Drift arched an optic ridge. “And right on to me?”

 

“I wanted to ask you something.”

 

The swordsmech sat a little straighter. Given their long history and how it had diverged, it could honestly be -- anything. Drift wasn’t tense, but he was unsure what to expect, even though he indicated Megatron go on. 

 

Megatron paused for another moment, then held up his hand. Drift peered into it, and found, dwarfed in Megatron’s open palm, a small glowing vial -- oh. Keeping his features smooth, Drift looked back up at Megatron, waiting for what he had to say.

 

“This was you, wasn’t it?”

 

Drift licked his lips -- but he shrugged, looking unconcerned. “Yeah,” he said.

 

Now it was Megatron peering down at the small vial of Drift’s innermost energon. “Why make an offering?”

 

Drift snorted, giving Megatron a skeptical look. “Why?” he repeated. “Most don’t ask  _ why _ they receive a vial of innermost energon…”

 

Megatron frowned at him, all the while closing his fist carefully around the little glass vial. “I believe our history makes the question valid.”

 

Drift hummed. Well, Megatron wasn’t wrong. But he didn’t know how to offer words on the matter. All he could think were the same memories that had come around since seeing him again -- that first meeting, a soft murmur:  _ “You don’t have to do that. Let’s just talk.” _ \-- words he’d never heard at that point in his life. A generous offer: warm nights hidden away, learning to read from old literature and Megatron’s own poetry. Energon, smuggled to him or siphoned when he felt hunger like a dizzying pain tearing his protoform apart. Direction for his growing anger and violence; a firm but steady hand through the painful haze of detox; the unflinching support and confidence that had somehow, some way, seemed to flow into him so that he’d known, for once, a sense of self-confidence and purpose.

 

There was plenty of hurt, of course. Feeling abandoned, feeling forgotten. He’d gone a separate way, but hadn’t Megatron shown him self-determination in the first place?

 

And here he was, now, and it at least appeared that they tread a similar path once more.

 

Drift rested his fingertips at his lips, still carried away on thought and memory, thinking that most of all he’d appreciated the way Megatron’s kisses had the ability to stop time for an instant. He smiled again behind his fingers. 

 

“Drift?”

 

With a quick shutter of his optics, Drift returned to the present, peering up at Megatron as he slipped his hand away from his mouth. “Maybe I’m not so much concerned about the past as I am with the future,” he said, that whimsical smile still on his face.

 

“Really?” Megatron sounded doubtful -- rightfully so, perhaps -- but he wasn’t apparently disposed to interrogate Drift on the matter, for which he was grateful. There were a lot more conversations to have, but it was better in Drift’s mind to simply be.

 

Drift chuckled softly and leaned against Megatron’s side. “Really,” he said, and shuttered his optics again when, after a moment’s hesitation, Megatron gently slipped his arm around Drift’s frame. 

**Author's Note:**

> also at this point it's something of a game to see how many ficbits I'm gonna write of these two based on this entire headcanon that I have but haven't managed to completely write out. yet. haha. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


End file.
